


A Perfectly Normal Velocipede

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Actually They're Both Just Idiots, Anathema's Bicycle - Freeform, Aziraphale Is Vaguely Demisexual, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Is Just Vague, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Relationship Advice, Romantic Fluff, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They're both pants at communicating, post-not-apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Aziraphale wants to learn to ride a bike. He’s blazed up the M-way on Madame Tracy’s scooter after all; how hard can it be? Anathema offers to teach him. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 106





	A Perfectly Normal Velocipede

**Author's Note:**

> Uncle Specs and Uncle Shades are part of my permanent headcanon. Fight me.

“I should like to learn to ride one,” said Aziraphale, more or less out of nowhere.

They had taken to sitting like this, in a companionate silence, in the tranquil afternoons since the World Didn’t End: the angel at his desk, paging through a catalogue or translating the marginalia in some old codex; Crowley engulfing a chintz settee in a nominally reclining position, earbuds undoubtedly transmitting some frightful _bebop_ from his smartphone while he leafed through a fashion magazine or a tabloid.

“Ride what?” said Crowley, taking out one earbud.

“A velocipede. Like the young lady in Tadfield had. Or Adam and his friends. Really, when you consider how important they were in thwarting Armageddon, it seems a grave omission on my part never to have learned.”

“You rode that scooter thingy.”

“That was all Madame Tracy. Division of labour. I’m quite inexperienced with velocipedes.”

“Would’ve thought you knew how.”

“Why ever would I, Crowley?”

“Well – ah – y’know – just seems like the sort of thing you’d do. Old fashioned. British.” _Stodgy,_ he thought, but didn’t say, because it was inexplicably one of the things he (he sidled toward the word even in his own mind, practically backed up to it) loved about the angel. Just thinking in that general direction seemed like dangerous water, to be avoided.

“Well, I’ve not. I thought it all a ridiculous craze when they first came out, those penny-farthing things, they really seemed like _contraptions_ , but the design appears to have improved.”

“Technology, angel. Always surprises you.” Privately Crowley thought of bicycles as the worst of both worlds: you actually had to put work into making them go, when you did they weren’t any faster than a first-generation Imperial, and the one time he had seen them perform at respectable speeds (there'd been a temptation involving cheating in the Tour of Britain), he’d considered the costume ridiculous and the seat design incompatible with a decent Effort. At least he hadn’t actually had to operate one of the things.

“Where’d you ride one anyway? Tube gets you everywhere you don’t want to walk.” _Except when I drive you,_ he thought, but, once again, refrained from saying.

“Well – you know – I did mention having an eye out for some little place near the coast. Now that I _needn’t_ be based in London any more, no oversight by the Home Office. It would be the perfect thing, sea air, very refreshing...”

 _And nowhere near me,_ thought Crowley glumly, which meant that he felt honour bound to say the next thing, which was “Well, angel, London’s _not_ the place to learn, some madman in a Bentley might prang you clean through the crossing. P’raps we ought to get out into the countryside for a day – “

“As I remember, Crowley, the countryside is _exactly_ where one can get pranged by a Bentley.”

Crowley took out the other earbud.

“Right, that’s it.”

“What’s what?”

“We could call her up.”

“Crowley, you’re not making a bit of sense.”

“Book Girl. Or Bike Girl. Got her card in a pocket somewhere.”

“I remain entirely baffled.”

“Well, reckon it was in the book – here we are, must’ve fallen out when you picked it up, ‘n’ Adam put everything back, so I found it on the floorboards the other day – “

“Witches have business cards?”

Crowley read off the text. “ _Anathema Device,_ _Occultist. Available to Consult on Feng Shui, Tarot, Space Clearing._ Ought to get her in here just for that last.” Crowley’s posture on the settee was drifting toward inversion. “She owes you one, angel, you _fixed_ her bike.”

“After _you_ banged into it.”

“She banged into me.”

“You hadn’t got the lamps on. I’ve told you over and over – “

"And here's some address in the States, written over with _Jasmine Cottage, Lower Tadfield,_ there’s a number. I’m an occult being, she’s an occultist, perfectly natural to ring up.”

“She seems hardly the person to ask.”

“Who else do we know?”

Aziraphale didn’t have an answer to that. Who did they know, much less count as friends? An angel feels love for everything; at least, he knew he did. But friends? Really, there was only Crowley.

Surely, the demon knew that.

* * *

“She was all over it, angel. What'd I say?"

“I can’t think why.”

“How often does a witch get to meet a genuine demon?”

“You told her?”

“Angel too. Figured it'd be a draw – ”

“That’s a circle coming up ahead – _wasn’t that our turnoff_? I miracled a hamper into the back in case we got peckish, there's champagne, don’t bounce it about so – “

“Peckish?”

“ _Stop_ rolling your eyes like that. _I know you're doing it_. I’m told you can work up quite an appetite, cycling.”

Crowley thought about appetites, and drove on in a moody silence.

* * *

Anathema was already in the dooryard of Jasmine Cottage, wearing roughly the same outfit they’d last seen her in at the airfield and wheeling the bike, complete with basket, up to the garden gate. Just as Crowley remembered, it was a clunky machine with a wide, sedate seat, none of that racing business that threatened your best Effort. Um, maybe let’s not think about that.

“We can go down to the middle of the village. Most everyone’s inside at midday, the ground’s level.”

A distant sound of mild swearing could be heard from the upper rooms of the cottage.

“And Newt’s trying to connect up a router, so he won’t be fit company till dinnertime at least, you picked the perfect day.”

“Newt? Young bloke who fixed the computers at the airbase?”

“You could call it that, I guess.”

Crowley whistled. “Quick work.”

“We had to think on our feet.”

“No, I mean he’s moved in?”

“Dear, let’s not be personal. It’s bad manners.”

“Sorry. Demon.”

Anathema let Aziraphale wheel the bike down the lane towards the village centre, to get the feel of it. “I’ve pumped up the tyres and tightened up all the bolts and brake pads, it’s only a very simple bike without gears, but that seems just the place for you to start – “

“Oh, dear, it already sounds rather complicated.”

“You’ll get the hang of it. Now it’s a girls’ bicycle, but that really won’t make much difference, I just like – “

“Oh! Well, you know, angels are – “

“ _Angel._ Personal.”

“Oh. Um. Quite right. Now, how do I get on?”

* * *

“I think I see the trouble here. You need to get it moving right away, it won’t stand still on its own. It’s not a horse.”

The angel had picked himself up from the dusty gravel several times, after mounting the bicycle and immediately, on each occasion, keeling rather majestically over as soon as he had both feet on the pedals. Crowley was having a time discreetly miracling the smudges off the morning coat.

“That seems somewhat headlong.”

“Just remind yourself it can’t do a thing on its own. You’re in control. Eventually it’ll become an extension of you.”

Aziraphale mounted the bike and promptly capsized again. This time there was an actual tear in the cashmere trousers, and Crowley resigned himself to having his finger-snaps diagnosed as a tic.

“Ms. Anathema? What’s Uncle Specs doing?”

“Uncle _Who?”_ echoed Crowley, _sotto voce,_ looking around from where he was sat beside Anathema on the lower plinth of the War Memorial. It was a bit disrespectful, but no one had reproved them, possibly because it was an especially hot afternoon in late summer and people not at work were indeed staying in their own back gardens, digesting their luncheons.

“He’s learning to ride a bike, Adam. Some people didn’t have an enriching childhood like yours.”

The Them had assembled nearby with their respective bicycles, and were staring in fascination at the spectacle of Aziraphale, now growing visibly pink, sweaty and flustered, repeatedly crashing on takeoff.

“Start with your right foot,” said Pepper.

“Oh! Lovely to see you young people again – ah – right foot?”

“If you’re going to put your right leg over, start pedaling on that side and push off the ground on the left. So you get it moving.”

“Ah – I see. Let’s have another go then.”

This time the angel described a series of rather drunken loops in the gravel, the front wheel yawing uncertainly, before starting to topple and catching himself just in time.

“Oh, I say! That’s a bit more like it.” He tried again, lasted not quite as long this time, and almost rolled into a bollard.

“What’s this _Uncle Specs_ business?” Crowley asked as Brian suggested training wheels and Adam told him it was disrespectful.

“Only tryin’ to help,” said Brian. “ _I_ used training wheels.”

“Well, you do realize you made an impression. They’ve all been going on about it since the airbase. It’s vital to process experience, you know. And we really didn’t know what to call you, I didn’t have a clue who _Anthony Crowley_ was when you left your message with Newt the other day. Adam decided on Uncle Shades and Uncle Specs. Those little reading glasses hooked over his jacket pocket? Probably ought to take those for him,” Anathema reflected as Aziraphale narrowly missed the bollard again.

“It makes us sound like some sort of a matched set.”

“I kind of thought you were.”

“Not – well, unless you count – “

“Your auras certainly made it look that way.”

They were interrupted by a loud wavering cry as Aziraphale finally managed to develop some linear momentum and went almost straight into the nearest garden fence. Their heads snapped up as one to see the Them extricating the angel from a trellis.

“Oh, old Tyler’s going to be stroppy about this,” came Adam’s carrying voice.

“No harm done,” managed Aziraphale, adding to the day’s tally of snaps. “I do think I almost had it that time.”

“You need to start off a little faster,” said Pepper. “Here. Try keeping up with me.”

This time he actually did hit the bollard head on; the bike went one way, the angel the other. Pepper seemed undaunted.

“That was a lot better. Um, ‘cept for the hitting stuff part. You want to aim away from stuff.”

“All right, let’s try again.”

“I think he’s in good hands,” said Anathema. They watched as the angel’s range gradually extended to several yards before terminal wobble set in.

“Seems you two hit it right off,” said Crowley into the short silence that followed. “You ’n’ your young man. Newt. How’d you – um, how’d you get there?”

“Well. Really Agnes told me it would happen. So I didn’t think about it much. I just – kissed him.”

“Just like that?”

“We did think we were both about to die. It kind of affects your sense of timing.”

“Well. Doesn’t help me much. Already been there and, um, not done that.”

“I saw how you were looking at him.”

“Dunno why I’m tellin’ you. Maybe ‘cos I don’t know you, won’t be runnin’ into you again – “

“That would be a shame.”

“Hah?”

"I mean, all my life it's just been about Agnes and the prophecies. I'm finding out how good it is to have friends - "

"Friends?"

“I like you both. Even if you did knock me off my bike.”

“You hit _us – “_

They both started laughing at the same time, just as Aziraphale managed to complete an unsteady circuit of the village centre.

“Your kind of -- people really do that? Uh – hook up, sort of?”

“Never heard of it before, but doesn’t stop me _thinking – “_

“Crowley, I do think I’m getting it!” Aziraphale had made it a good way down the lane, turned, and was barreling back toward them, shining eyes fixed directly on Crowley, meaning that the bike began to veer in the same direction, so that demon and witch leapt out of the way just in time for Aziraphale to brake abruptly and tumble off over the handlebars onto the plinth of the War Memorial. He and the bike didn’t quite part company, so that when they ran back he was gazing windedly up at the refraction off the web of spokes revolving in the sunlight.

“Angel, you’re gonna get hurt. Give it a rest, maybe we can try another day – “

“This is what miracles are _for_ , Crowley. I am not giving up this easily. We faced down Heaven and Hell, and I will _not_ be defeated by a piece of ordinary human machinery. No offence to your velocipede, Miss Device -- please” – the angel grunted and whuffed as he disengaged himself from the bike frame and dusted himself distractedly – “be assured it will come back to you in tip-top condition.”

“Last time you put gears on.”

“Oh! Ought I to do that?”

“Not just now – you’ve got enough to figure out here – “

“I suppose I _could_ take a break. Isn’t that an ice cream trolley setting up over there?”

“I’ll get us something,” said Crowley

* * *

“ – and I really felt much stabler that last time, I just let the excitement carry me away – “

“You’ll need to practice more before you try it in London.”

“Oh – ah, thank you, dear boy, my favourite – actually I was thinking more of retiring someplace quieter myself, perhaps on the Downs – the two of you could come down for a visit, if you wanted -- “

Crowley ripped the paper a little savagely off his strawberry lolly. He’d made noncommittal noises, _sure, s’pose you’d want a change_ when the angel had first brought up this leaving-London business, but it had clearly taken root. No more afternoons of that undemanding silence, _toodle-pip_ to dropping by with a bottle, _thought you'd fancy this_ \--

Anathema didn't miss his thundercloud expression as he caught the drips, a bit like someone drinking the blood of a mortal enemy.

“Why don’t you let the kids take you for a spin around the village?” she suggested to Aziraphale. “Get a look when you’re not having to – whatever it was you two did. I trust them with you.”

* * *

“And you say this has been going on for how long?”

“Six thousand years and some. I mean, creeps up on you, like. When you haven’t got someone tellin' you what to do in a book. Could've used that.”

“Well, you know, in the end I didn’t let her. _She_ said we only – uh, did it once. I mean, I don’t know what occult beings do -- "

"He's ethereal -- "

"It was Newt really. He said there was a time to make your own choices.”’

“Funny, reminds me of someone.”

They’d risen from the War Memorial, bought another ice lolly apiece because it was, for Oxfordshire, almost scorching. A faintly visible cloud of midges hovered over the long pond that lay between Lower Tadfield’s village centre and the motorway. The Them had coached Aziraphale in the nicety of pedaling up the arched bridge that crossed it, the only noticeable rise in the terrain within view, and down the other side several times before disappearing into the middle distance.

“But, y’know, went through everything we did, figured out your great-great-gran’s prophecy, dodged the bullet, big celebration, I was gonna tell him and – well, y’know, just choked up – “

“And you two're still hanging out. Seems only a matter of time.”  
  
”Thought that back during the Reign of Terror.”

“Well, that _has_ been a while…”

“Never seemed to find the moment.”

“Maybe there won’t be one unless you make it – ”

High-pitched, whooping children’s voices reached them from the direction of the pond. Crowley looked up just in time to see Aziraphale, only slightly preceded by Adam and flanked by Pepper, come careening back over the crest of the bridge, morning coat flapping out behind him, fluffy hair lifting in his own slipstream, eyes shining, standing a bit up off the seat –

– hitting a bump at the bottom of the bridge, swerving wildly, mouth a panicked O of alarm, trying to miss the bollards and follow Pepper’s shouted direction “Brake soft, Uncle Specs! Brake _soft!_ ” before listing wildly to port, yanking the handlebars around desperately and wiping out. Pretty much on top of Crowley.

The ice lolly painted a stripe up the beige morning coat. Crowley considered the view from ground level, involving as it did equal parts of bollard, bicycle and angel.

“Oh, Mr. Fell, you’re _bleeding_ – Adam, run get Newt, tell him to bring Dick Turpin – “

“Just strawberry ice,” said Crowley, holding up the devastated remains of the confection.

Aziraphale’s eyes were still glowing. The front wheel was still spinning. Crowley was still half pinned under Aziraphale. He reflected that there were an infinity of worse positions.

“Oh, Crowley, that was _glorious._ I can’t thank you enough for the idea – I simply can’t _tell_ you – “

Stunningly, shockingly, he threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and kissed both cheeks, something of a feat in itself since it remained unclear exactly how anyone was going to untangle demon from angel from bicycle.

“I’m sure I’ll get it, it’s only a matter of practice – maybe Miss Device can help me choose a machine – oh! I know! Let’s try one of those tandem thingys, you could come riding with me – “ Crowley's hair prickled with mounting dread, possibly on a scale to equal the moment when Adam had been handed to him in an Infernal carrycot.

On the other hand, his angel had just _kissed_ him.

“Uh, fine, sure, angel, where were you thinking of?” _Somewhere I never plan to be seen again,_ he thought fervently.

“Well, the house I'm looking for at the Coast, of course. We’ll find someplace near the Bridleway – you _are_ coming, aren’t you? Please say you are, I wouldn’t think of it without you – “

“Angel?”

The bicycle’s front wheel finally ticked to a stop.

“Are you, ah, proposing to me? Sort've?”

“Well, after a manner of – ah – well -- Yes! _Capital_ idea,” exclaimed Aziraphale, finally disengaging himself from the bicycle. Instead of standing, though, he remained on one knee; reached through the pedal assembly, and seized the prostrate demon's slightly scraped hand.

“Anthony Crowley, will you – “

“ _Yes,”_ interrupted Crowley, and clambered up to return the kiss -- smack on the mouth this time, though it took two tries, because of the pedals.

Aziraphale's response gradually suggested that cycling might, indeed, have given him an appetite.

After a discreet interval Anathema’s voice came from overhead.

“Um – pardon me for interrupting, but – are you both all right?”

“Oh, perfectly,” said Aziraphale.

“Wait till after I _smack_ you,” muttered Crowley, but the angel was ruefully surveying the thoroughly bashed bike. “I did promise,” he said, and snapped. “There. Good as new.”

“Can we get ice creams?” said Wensleydale.

* * *

“It really only makes something official that’s been true for simply _ages_. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Crowley still couldn’t decide whether to be euphoric or exasperated, and settled for an elaborate show of careful driving. Anathema’s directions had been fairly clear, but this was the kind of territory he usually blew through at airplane speed.

“Thought you were just goin’ away. Bye now, have a nice life. Gettin’ all ready to miss you.”

“You ridiculous boy. As if I would ever. After _everything_.”

“Part where you said you _didn’t even like me,_ f’r’instance?”

Aziraphale’s hand came to rest unexpectedly on his knee, and probably an angel’s touch just made you feel weightless, part of their whole _be not afraid_ thingy, along with nearly driving into the ditch. “Dear. I'm so sorry. Let’s not quarrel straight away.”

The wheels straightened out at the last second. “What else do we ever _do_?”

The hand retreated and Crowley immediately began to think of sulky things to say that would bring it back. “Quite right, of course,” agreed Aziraphale with maddening equanimity. “Incidentally, where are we going?”

“Ana told me there’s a spot up here in the orchard. Likes goin' there with Newt. Just right for a picnic, apple trees ‘n’ all, like old times.”

“That sounds spiffing.”

“And, uh, pleasantly private.”

“Even better.” Apparently that was what would bring the hand back.

"Careful, angel, tryin’ not to bounce the hamper. Champagne still cold, right?’

“Miracle managed.”

“Good. Reckon we've got something to toast.”

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> If this fic had end credits, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmiNlZAiDqo) would be the music.
> 
> True fact: Copper cannot ride a bike. Every humiliating wipeout depicted in this fic has happened to Copper. Copper had to ask bae how to get a bike moving. _Je suis Aziraphale._
> 
> If you enjoyed, share, reblog, comment! Come harass me on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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